Dancing
by snowbootspureasgold
Summary: In which our Princess is self-conscious, and our Prince is shy, so years pass between their meeting and the happily ever after. They just keep dancing.
1. Chapter 1

They push me towards him, but gently enough that I don't really go anywhere. "Go dance," they say, laughing because they don't think I will. I just stand there, bare feet gripping the carpet, and look at him.

His arms are open to me, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, but his smile seems fake. He knows as much as I do that we're putting on a show for our friends. Giving them something to coo at, because the only other couple in my group of friends have been together for at least a month, and have gotten boring. Going through the motions so they can't bother me about missing my senior prom.

I can't read his eyes.

After a moment, I step out onto the wooden "dance floor", expecting it to feel cool against the soles of my feet, at least compared to the carpet. It doesn't, and I'm only reminded of how much I'd rather be dancing outside. But I take his hands, and move awkwardly with him on the fringes of the crowd. Giggles erupt behind us, and a low, rough chuckle find's its way out of my one other guy friend's throat.

His smile is a little more real now, I think. Maybe I'm imagining it.

Band geeks that we are, we're perfectly in sync. Not that the beat is hard to find, as the bass drives all the dancers more by feel than by sound. The vibrations ripple through the air, up from the floor, and in the heat that radiates from the packed-in crowd of more enthusiastic and intoxicated people. But the vibrations that I feel through his hand, or just from him when he's close enough, are softer, smoother, and still in time.

The light in his eyes when he looks at me almost seems genuine now.


	2. Chapter 2

I really didn't mean to go at all. I wasn't going to. I didn't want to pay three hours worth of my lifeguard salary to go to a stupid dance.

Honestly, I'm not sure he was too keen on it either. He certainly hadn't mentioned it until my rant about our friends. As far as I knew, he'd gone to as many dances as I had; the number was countable on one hand.  
>But he didn't have to turn on me. He didn't have to go over to the dark side. He knew it too, but it was too much fun for him to torture me.<p>

"Oh, come on," my friends said, when we sat down for lunch, "It won't be that bad." I didn't respond, realizing that nothing can help me now, and he rolled his eyes. "What would it take to get you to get a nice dress and go?"

"We're not discussing this," another girl friend said. "You're not skipping out on your senior prom. We will not let you."

I rolled my eyes at them, thinking how ridiculous the idea of me at a prom is, then got an idea, which seemed good at the time. "I'll go," I said, "but only if someone asks me." I knew full well that there was not one in the high school who would stoop so low as to take me to prom. I'm quiet, I'm rude and sarcastic when I'm not, and I'm not any form of attractive. It was a perfect way to avoid the situation.

"I'll take you," he said, with a joking spark in his eye, and all I can do is blink. "If you want, I mean. I'll go with you."

And then our friends decided it was for real.

* * *

><p><em>So, I've been asked what story this is. That's a good question, and I am basing this sort of around one story, but I'm not going to tell you which one. I kind of want to see what you think.<em>


	3. Chapter 3

All conversation stopped at our lunch table within two minutes. The two girls who were sitting across from me were looking at me and the boy sitting next to me with wide eyes. There were whispers as someone filled someone else in on what's happened. Then my closest girl friend said, "Finally," and some semblance of normalcy returned.

Except now, we were the center of attention at this side of the table.

At first, they seem to think that my two best girl friends are joking, but when I feel my face start to heat up, I know they believe it. He raised an eyebrow, and I shrugged back. There were no words, but we got past words a while ago. But because of it, I couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

My other relatively close guy friend came over and squatted between us, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Thank you," the friend said, a huge grin spreading over his face. I hit him over the head, almost managing to knock him over. Almost.

"Now you have to go," my other friends were telling me. "You can't wriggle out of this one now." "We need to take you dress shopping!"

I roll my eyes and bang my head on the table at this last one. I'm not-really-a-tomboy, barely plain girl with the too wide shoulders and too big hips who hates dresses and shopping. They know it, too.

His quiet chuckle, underneath all the noise, is what motivates me to pick my head up.


End file.
